Chapter 26
Saint
The meeting place is neutral ground. A restaurant in Queens that's been family-owned for three generations.
No Italians, no Russians.
The owner, Stavros, owes favors to everyone, and they also owe him, which means he owes loyalty to no one.
It's a perfect set up, and it's a place where we all do business when we need to make deals on neutral ground.
It's also a place that wouldn't be on Artem's radar. Because Gemma is right, he is an outsider, and that works to our advantage.
I arrive early with Gemma and Marcello. Emmanuel and three other men wait outside. Armed and ready to move on my order.
Though I doubt that I am going to have to do too much.
Igor will have his own security, but we aren't here as enemies.
And while that's all well and good, I still make sure that we are the first ones here, that we control the space. Gemma insisted on coming, and I know I'm not going to be able to keep her home. This was her play, after all. But I need to be in control of as many things as possible.
"You remember the plan?" I ask Gemma for the third time. I'm on edge. I don't normally work out in the open like this, and it's making me anxious.
Gemma appears cool and collected. She's wearing a beige pants suit with her hair pulled back in a braid. Her silver eyes are serious. She looks lovely and demure. Like a high society socialite.
I know better.
My wife is not to be underestimated. Any man who does will soon learn how dangerous she can be.
That doesn't mean I don't worry.
I crack my neck. Being married to Gemma is going to kill me long before the Russians do.
"Yes, Saint. I remember." She's calm. Too calm.
I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin.
I'm itching for my gun. "You do the talking.
Marcello handles the legal stuff, and I sit pretty.
" She gives me a wide smile, and I can't help but think she is incredibly fucking hot.
"And you don't threaten to murder anyone. "
I roll my eyes. "I don't threaten murder."
Marcello snorts, and Gemma gives me a look of long suffering.
"A threat implies uncertainty. I deliver certainty."
"See?" Gemma touches my arm. "That. Don't do that."
I want to argue.
But she's right. Her plan. Her play. I need to let her run it, and though I am speaking, she's the brains behind this particular operation.
Doesn't mean I have to like it and doesn't mean I won't put a bullet in Igor's head.
"Igor's here," Marcello says, looking at his phone. "Just pulled up."
"Good." I stand. Adjust my jacket and check my gun. "Let's do this."
Igor enters with two men. Both armed and watching us carefully.
He looks older than his late forties. His hair is dark, but he's got gray in his beard. He's built solid and strong. The kind of man who's survived decades in the Bratva by being smart and ruthless in equal measure.
"Marini." He nods to me. Then to Marcello. His eyes linger on Gemma. "Mrs. Marini." His accent is thick. Russian but with years of New York smoothing the edges. "Nice to see you again."
"You as well," Gemma says.
He sits across from us, and his man take positions by the door. "Your husband nearly killed Alexei. Then Alexei dies. Interesting timing."
"Heard it was a police raid and then a fire," I say coldly. "Bad luck." I shrug. "Alexei always was rash."
"Yes. Bad luck." Igor's smile doesn't reach his eyes, and I know that he is well aware of what really occurred. "So. Why am I here? Your man said you had a proposition."
I look at Gemma. She nods slightly.
This is it.
"We want to back you," I say. "Publicly. As Alexei's successor. As Pakhan of the New York Bratva."
Igor goes very still. "What makes you think I need your backing?"
"Artem Orlov."
Igor's eyes flash, and there's a bit of fear.
"You are aware of Artem?" he asks.
I nod. I want to make a snide ass remark, but I remind myself I'm Don now, and the time for sarcasm is behind me. Still, is Igor fucking stupid? Everyone in the city is aware of the Russian oligarch.
"Artem wants the family."
Igor barely reacts. "He has no claim."
"True, but I know his reputation. Right won't stop him from taking it."
This does get a reaction. Igor is a cold fish, but I see the slight tick in his cheek. He doesn't care for Artem. Maybe it was whatever beef Alexei and him had, or maybe, because he believes Artem has no business in New York. Doesn't matter much to me.
"What makes you think I need your help?"
"Don't play stupid, Igor," I lean back. "You and I know that if Artem challenges you, he has a shot. He's connected."
"But you have legitimacy," Gemma says. "Artem is an outsider. He has no roots here. No organic support. The only reason he has any power is because Alexei's death created a vacuum."
"And you want to fill that vacuum. With me." Igor leans back. "What's in it for you?"
"Stability," Marcello says. "We don't want a war. We don't want the Russians tearing themselves apart and dragging us into it. We want a strong, stable Bratva. Under a Pakhan we can work with."
"Work with. Not control."
"We don't want to control you," I say. "We want mutual respect and cooperation." I channel Antonio because I want to strangle Igor. "It's not the nineteen twenties, we can't be killing each other in the streets."
Igor studies me. Then Gemma. Then back to me.
"You're asking me to trust you. The man who nearly beat Alexei to death. Who has killed my brothers in the dark." He leans forward. "Why would I do that?"
This is where it could go wrong. Where my temper could fuck everything up.
I feel Gemma's hand on my knee under the table. Gentle. Grounding.
"Because the alternative is worse." I lean forward. "I'm the Don now. I wear a different face. But the killer who took down your men? He's still here. Still ready." I smile slowly. "You can work with me, or you can face me. Your choice."
Igor studies me. "There he is. The killer. I was wondering when he'd show up."
"I never left," I say quietly.
"Because Artem will destroy you," Gemma adds. Voice soft but firm. "He's not here to work with you. He's here to take over. And if you don't have backing, real, powerful backing, you'll lose."
"And if I do? If I accept your support?" Igor's eyes narrow. "What do you want in return?"
"Access to the ports. Continued cooperation on the union contracts. And—" Gemma pauses. "—we want you to forget about any... rumors. About who might have been involved in Alexei's death."
There it is. The real ask.
Igor's quiet for a long moment.
Then he laughs. "You have balls, Mrs. Marini. I like that." He looks at me. "She always this direct?"
I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately."
"Good. I hate people who waste my time." He signals to Stavros. "Vodka. The good stuff."
Stavros brings a bottle. Four glasses.
Igor pours. Slides glasses to each of us.
"Here's what I know," he says. "Alexei was a pig. He hurt people. Used people. Made enemies." He drinks. "Whoever killed him did the world a favor. I'm not sad he's dead."
I watch his face. Trying to read him.
"Here's what I also know," he continues. "Artem Orlov is dangerous. More dangerous than Alexei ever was. He's smart. Patient. Ruthless." He pours another drink. "And he wants my head on a spike."
"So, help us stop him," Gemma says.
"You think you can stop Artem Orlov?" Igor's voice is skeptical. "Your children playing games. He's been bred for this."
"Maybe. But we have something he doesn't." I lean forward. "We have legitimacy. We have the backing of the major Italian families in New York. We have resources he can't match."
"And we have a strategy," Gemma adds. "Artem thinks we'll either fight him or fold. He doesn't expect us to undercut him. To make him irrelevant."
Igor considers this. "You want me to be your puppet. Your Russian friend who does what you say."
"No." Gemma's voice is sharp. "We want you to be Pakhan. Real Pakhan. We just want you to remember who backed you when no one else would."
"And what happens when I don't need you anymore? When the family is secure and Artem is gone?"
"Then we continue as we always have. Mutual respect. Mutual benefit." I meet his eyes. "Or we become enemies. Your choice."
The implication is clear.
Igor smiles. "Your wife is smart. Alexei was a fool. He never saw women as anything but decoration or entertainment. That's why he's dead."
The words hang in the air.
He knows. Or suspects. But he's not saying it directly.
"So," Igor says. "You back me. Publicly. Make it clear to the Bratva that the Marini family supports my succession. And in return, I forget any rumors. I maintain our current agreements. And I handle Artem."
"That's the deal," Marcello confirms.
"And if Artem doesn't back down? If he pushes anyway?"
"Then we deal with him. Together." I lean back. "You have our word."
Igor's quiet. Thinking.
Then he stands. Extends his hand.
"Deal. I'll call a family meeting. Tonight. To formally accept the Pakhan position and make it clear I have your backing."
I shake. Firm grip. Eye contact. The old way.
"Good," Marcello says. "The moment you formally accept, we'll release a joint statement. The Marini family recognizes Igor Volkov as the legitimate Pakhan of the New York Bratva. We go public immediately."
"Perfect." Igor looks at Gemma one more time. "Thank you, Mrs. Marini. For the strategy. And for the honesty."
"You're welcome."
He leaves with his men.
The three of us sit there in silence.
Then Marcello grins. "Holy shit. That actually worked."
"Did you doubt it would?" Gemma asks.
"Honestly? A little." He stands. "I'll get the statement drafted. Ready to release the moment Igor makes it official."
He leaves.
I turn to Gemma. "You did good."
"We did good." She touches my hand. "All of us."
"No. This was you." I pull her closer. "Your plan. Your strategy. Marcello and I just backed you up."
"You let me have room to breathe. That's..." She struggles for words. "That means something."
"Yeah. It does." I kiss her forehead. "I'm learning. Slowly. But I'm learning."
"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere." She leans into me. "We're in this. Together."
"Together," I repeat.
We sit there for a moment. Quiet. Calm.
For the first time since Antonio died, I feel like I'm not drowning.
No—it's more than that. With her beside me, with her mind and mine working together, I feel more powerful than I ever did alone.
"Come on," I say. "Let's go home. Celebrate properly."
She smiles. "What kind of celebration?"
"The kind that involves you, me, and absolutely no clothes."
"Sounds perfect."
We leave the restaurant. Emmanuel and the men fall in around us. Protection. Security.
Back at the compound, I take her to our bedroom. Lock the door.
And I worship her. Every inch. Every curve. Every mark Adrian left that's finally fading.
She's mine. My wife. My partner.
And I'm never letting her go.
That night, after Igor's meeting, the statement goes live.
JOINT STATEMENT FROM THE MARINI FAMILY AND IGOR VOLKOV
The Marini family extends its support to Igor Volkov as the rightful successor to Alexei Morozov and Pakhan of the New York Bratva.
Mr. Volkov's leadership, experience, and commitment to stability make him the natural choice to lead the family forward.
We look forward to continued cooperation and mutual respect.
It's formal. Professional. Political.
And it's a declaration of war against Artem.
Subtly. But clear enough.
"Response?" I ask Marcello. We're in my office. Gemma is beside me. Where she belongs.
"Bratva is buzzing. Some support Igor. Some are waiting to see what Artem does." Marcello scrolls his phone. "But the statement matters. It gives Igor legitimacy. Makes Artem look like the aggressor."
"And Artem?" Gemma asks. "His deadline was today."
Marcello checks his phone. "No word. Radio silence."
"That's not good," I say. "He's planning something."
"Good." I lean back. "Now we wait."
"For what?" Gemma asks.
"For Artem to make his move. He can't back down now. His credibility is on the line." I look at her. "Your plan is working."
"Our plan," she corrects.
"Right. Our plan."
The day passes. Quiet. Too quiet.
"This is it," Marcello says. "Once Igor is confirmed, Artem's leverage is gone. The footage becomes meaningless."
"Unless Artem does something stupid," I say.
"He won't. He's smart. He knows when he's beaten." Gemma sounds confident. "He'll retreat. Regroup. Maybe try again later. But for now, we've won."
I want to believe her.
Want to think it's that simple.
But something feels off. Wrong.
"Double the security," I tell Emmanuel. "On the compound. On Gemma. On Marcello. I want eyes everywhere."
"Boss—" Gemma starts.
"Humor me. Please."
She sees something in my face. Nods. "Okay."
That night, I can't sleep.
I lie there, watching Gemma breathe. Peaceful. Trusting.
She thinks we've won.
And maybe we have.
But I've been in this life long enough to know—
It's never that easy.
And men like Artem don't lose.
They just change the game.